The wind blows meadow grasses to and fro The Thrush's song surrounds a fawning doe Drops of dew fast clinging to my feet Thinking of the one's I've met and those I'll meet
The long road travled, longer still ahead Longing for a place to rest my weary head Stumble upon a hidden waterhole A place to think and cleanse my soul
I take a rest under the Alder Grove The only place I have to call my home A comfort to my worn and weary bones Until I venture back to the unknown